Kay Vibbert and Patrick Murphy

A woman sits in a bay window,

as milk dots fall into confection

over the north pond;

the evergreen gives scent,

the children's choir sings.

Lemon and mint tea steams,

crescent oranges wobble

on a checked tablecloth.

Bob Dylan fades low.
A hobbit scurries between

barren rows in the field

light clumps across a birdhouse.

A baby's photograph is talc kissed.

mushrooms sleep beneath oak trees;
scarves and journal entries
yellow in a cargo trunk

but she is warm from sun-crusted

basins- reflecting,

neither silent nor chanting,
from morning to morning.